22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
M ICAH
She blocked me.
I stare down at my green text, which was marked as neither sent nor delivered, and laugh in disbelief.
I’m sitting on the private plane heading back to New York after one of the shittiest vacations I’ve had in a while. I filled my time with mindless day parties, anxiety-riddled nights, and afternoons where my thoughts wandered in circles with no fixed destination and no epiphany to be had.
Plus, the one time I decided to go to the beach, it rained.
Just a miserable set of weeks.
And then finally, finally , I allowed my pride to bend enough to text Carly again. Nothing much, just to reach out and see if she’s doing okay.
Only to find that the text doesn’t get delivered.
After trying two more times, I conclude that I’m blocked. Which is hilarious.
I’ve been blocked by women before, so it’s not my first rodeo. But usually, I get unblocked within a few hours after they realize I’m not the guy who’s going to go chasing after them, and I will more than likely move on without a single thought.
But something tells me Carly isn’t that quick to forgive.
And it’s already been a few days and she hasn’t unblocked me.
I catch myself checking practically every day now, sending her “hi” texts like an obsessive fucker. And maybe I am obsessed. After all, she’s all I can fucking think about for whatever reason. Even at that yacht party, surrounded by mind-altering drugs and gorgeous women and just about everything a man like me could ask for, promising a night to remember.
I partook in none of that.
Instead, I sat in the corner with wine and sulked after a woman like… like Declan of all people.
I couldn’t even tell you what happened at the party except for the fact that I spent most of the time brooding and thinking about Carly.
Getting pissed because she ruined my plans.
Feeling guilty because I yelled at her.
Feeling ashamed and angry that she now knows my darkest secret and I didn’t get the chance to even prepare her for the reveal.
Not that she looked like she needed preparation. She seemed to take it in stride after getting over the initial shock. But still. I didn’t want her to know. Not like that.
The dirtier part of my mind also keeps bringing me back to that hotel room, where I drove her insane with passion, where she was limp and listlessly looking at me, where I lost myself to her again.
And beyond that, I just fucking miss her company. And I think that’s the worst part of it all. I miss her.
But I’m assuming, to her, this is the end of our agreement and thus our relationship. It should be the end anyway.
But the thought of not seeing her again makes me antsy and miserable.
You shouldn’t be thinking about this.
I look away from my phone and stare out at the endless blue-and-white sky, noting the lights in the far distance below. You should be preparing for the meeting with your grandfather right now.
Gramps texted me a few days ago, saying he wanted to meet up. I almost ignored his text, still mad at the foul stunt he pulled.
But I decided not to be a child about this. He’s likely expecting me to be pissy and avoidant, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of being right.
Besides, I still need his help.
And so I gave it a day or two to text him back, then got on the jet headed to New York immediately.
And now I’m realizing that even just being on the plane reminds me of Carly and her first private jet ride. The way her eyes glittered as she took in the interior, the way her hands gripped the chair on the descent and her lips curled upward in excitement.
I sigh. Focus, Micah, Focus.
I don’t know what Grandfather has planned for me today, but I need to prepare myself for another surprise. Best case scenario, it’s going to be a lecture about me learning discernment and how to pick the right woman. Hopefully, it ends there. And hopefully, Carly’s outburst didn’t have him looking too deeply into her past, unraveling the secrets we’ve so painstakingly crafted.
However, I happen to have a contingency plan for that too. Still, I would rather not have to use it.
I tap my finger on my brandy glass as the pilot announces our initial descent. The skyrises that litter the ground soon grow rapidly in size. I remember my conversation with Carly about those and the housing plan my brother and I had for NYC. I intended to take Carly to New York next, showing her Broadway and a bunch of other interesting places. I was looking forward to seeing what expression she would make then. I wanted to see her marvel and delight again. There’s something addictive about watching her eyes glow in wonder.
I’ve never really been able to see the beauty in the luxury I have so far, but I could see it there in her eyes. And through her, I could feel that childish innocent awe again, could soak it all in.
Oh well. I assume a nonchalant shrug to no one. I guess that won’t happen anymore. Since she blocked me and everything.
The wheels touch the ground and the plane experiences a slight jump. We’re in New York.
Okay. Here goes nothing.
I hear voices when I enter my grandfather’s mansion, and they’re coming from the balcony across the expansive living room. As I walk toward it, I nod at Elvira who is fluffing one of the pillows on the vintage chairs. She sends me a fond smile in return.
As I get closer to the sliding French doors of the balcony, I realize that my grandfather is talking to a young woman I’ve never seen before.
I open the door and they both turn to me. The woman has blonde hair that is arranged at the top of her head in the most complicated pattern I’ve ever seen. She also has a pleasant enough face, and a laid-back casual style, wearing a button-down cardigan, vintage jeans, and Chanel espadrilles. She sends me a friendly smile when I walk in and I return it automatically.
“Hey, Gramps,” I say turning to my grandfather who looks to be in a good mood. “Sorry to interrupt you two, but I thought we had a meeting scheduled today.”
“Yes,” he responds, “and you’re late.”
“My bad. But to be fair, you should be used to it by now. Do you want me to return after you’re done with Ms...”
“Wentworth,” she responds in a lightly accented voice. “We met at the Governor’s charity ball if you remember.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right.” I don’t remember but it would be rude to say so. “How have you been?”
“Good.”
“Great. I’ll just leave you two to it then–”
“No, Micah,” my grandfather says. “The meeting is not with me and you. It’s with you and Ms. Wentworth.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh. Okay. Why?”
My grandfather sighs as though I’m being willfully obtuse and Ms. Wentworth’s smile widens.
“Actually,” she says, picking up her bag. Also Chanel. “I do need to use the little lady’s room. If you could direct me…”
“Sure.” I step out of her way as she rises. “Just down the hall and to your left.”
“Thank you.” She shoots me a look from underneath her eyelashes as she walks past me, leaving the scent of lilies in her wake. I give her a polite smile in return and once she’s gone, I turn to my grandfather.
“Okay. You want to tell me why she’s here?”
My grandfather stares at me unblinkingly for a few seconds before reaching for his glass of orange juice. “Ms. Cara Wentworth comes from extremely fine stock.”
Fine stock? I almost ask. Like she’s a cow?
But his words confirm my suspicions.
He brought Cara Wentworth here to audition for the fiancé role. The old man is so predictable sometimes.
And it’s strange how much “Cara” sounds like “Carly.” I wonder if that played a part in his decision.
I know my grandfather is ridiculous enough to think that the similarity will work in her favor. I can see him sitting in his study, with a cup of coffee in hand thinkin g, Well, since Micah appears to like women with names starting in C-A-R, how about that Ms. Cara Wentworth?
I terminate the amusing thought and focus on the issue at hand. What to do next.
On the one hand, it makes it easy for me.
I can say yes to starting something with Cara, comply for long enough, and then once Grandpa gives me the loan, I’ll make up whatever excuse to break up with her, or do something that will drive her to break up with me.
But even just the idea of pretending to date another woman is wholly unappetizing.
I mean, if it’s just dates it might be one thing, but I’ll probably have to sleep with her at some point to sell it. I can already tell my body wants no part of that. For the first time in my life, I’m not sure I would even be able to get it up.
Strange as it is, I only want Carly.
I can’t tell Grandpa that though, at least not until I can convince him to give Carly another chance.
I don’t know if I can, but I’m going to try. “Listen to what happened at brunch the other day…”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He waves a hand dismissively but he doesn’t look angry, which is a good thing. “It’s not like I had lofty expectations anyway, Micah. I’ve always known that your taste in women is lacking, so I expected whoever you brought to have some flaw. But I didn’t quite expect her to be a hellion.”
Well, you were deliberately provoking her. I immediately want to jump into her defense.
But I hold back, so as not to make it worse.
“Right,” I say, gritting my teeth at the end. “But you see the thing is, Carly is having a tough time right now with her family and I think what you said might have triggered–”
“That’s not important. A woman who cannot control her temper is a liability to you.” He gestures to the chair. “Now sit. Cara will return soon.”
I sigh and seeing no choice, I obey him. He’s not going to listen to me right now, but I can probably try again after Cara leaves.
So I sit there as Cara returns and I initiate a conversation about our last meeting at this gala, refreshing my memory on who exactly she is. My grandfather interjects once in a while, but then he eventually walks away to leave Cara and me to talk between ourselves. And to be fair, it’s not a bad conversation. She’s very articulate, cultured, with a great sense of humor too. Not to mention now that I’ve had time to look at her, she’s not just pleasant-looking. She’s pretty. Some would even describe her as gorgeous.
So yes, I spend most of my afternoon talking to a gorgeous, amiable woman who would probably be some guy’s dream woman.
But I’m completely bored out of my mind.
There’s no instant connection like what I had with Carly, no banter, no underlying sexual tension. I don’t find myself drawn to her mystique or curious about the way her mind works. I don’t find myself looking forward to the next words out of her mouth either.
It’s all forced on my end, feigning interest and playing a part.
There’s no way I can do this for months on end. Nope, not happening.
No one else will do.
I need to get Carly back.
I touch down in Michigan around four p.m. and am met with the setting sun and a golden Lambo from the rental agency. My agent seems to have made good note of my tastes and has the car waiting for me on the tarmac.
Going back to Laketown elicits a strange mixture of emotion. On one hand, there’s that resentment that always arises whenever I’m here, reminding me that my father intended this place to be my prison for however many years. I can also feel the boredom start to seep in when I imagine spending my days here. Passing by mundane grocery stores and the intermittent bars punctuated by long stretches of greenery only solidifies that feeling. The town still looks drab and unexciting, and eerily quiet most of the time, offering nothing at all to occupy my mind.
Nothing that is except Carly.
And just the very fact that I’m going to see her again fills me with a humming exhilaration that adds just a little more color to the scene.
Suddenly, the spring flowers that line my path look a little brighter. The gentle air feels fresher when I put the top down. I can almost smell the lakes and the light lilac of Carly’s shampoo. I pass by the restaurant we ate at for our first date and feel nostalgic, remembering kissing her, making her laugh, her incredible spit take. Something hums in the atmosphere, a feverish anticipation that invades me. A longing. A need.
It makes me think that maybe it’s not so bad that I’ll need to stay for a few days, just in case my father sends someone down to check if I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.
Speaking of my father, I wonder how long until he calls and asks me about progress on the hotel. Declan has agreed to cover me so far, but he won’t do it forever. I’ll either have to take the mantle or find someone to do it for me.
It makes the hours-long drive down to Laketown as pleasant as possible, as I think about what I’m going to tell Carly to get her back.
I could try being my usual charming self times three but I have a feeling that’s not going to work. Neither will offering her gifts or money. That might make her madder actually.
Hmm, it’s a tough problem to solve.
I decide to first head over to Declan’s to ask for his advice. Usually, he would be the last person to go to for relationship advice, but he’s known Carly longer than me and perhaps he can consult Emma on what to do. I would ask Emma myself, but she sounded serious on the phone about what she would do if I ever hurt Carly, and what I did seemed like a ball-cutting offense. Declan can play mediator and ask her on my behalf.
So once I pass by the Welcome to Laketown sign, I take the scenic route along the backroads, surrounded by trees with the barest hints of their spring bloom. The road to the Pink Hotel is a long, winding path that seems to go on forever, but eventually, the pink-painted Grand Pearl Hotel appears at the end of the road.
There are construction workers still on site, making the finishing touches. I nod at them as I park and walk around the back to Declan’s office.
But before I get there something stops me in my tracks. It damn near sucker punches me in the face.
It’s Carly, sitting on the porch next to another man.
She’s smiling at him and he’s smiling back at her. Holding her wrist as she pushes him laughing. They seem to be play-fighting and Carly looks to be enjoying herself very much. Definitely not sitting around moping like I’ve been.
She squeals out another trilling laugh as he grabs her by the shoulder, pulling her close.
That tinkling sound echoes in my ear and has a possessive rage flushing out every other thought.
Only one thing remains in my mind:
He’s going to die.